


Revelations in Madison

by jaradel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaradel/pseuds/jaradel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madison, Georgia. July 3rd, 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations in Madison

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com), creator of the web comic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> Beta'ed by [mistyzeo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo), whose patience and advice is greatly appreciated.
> 
> I used hovertext for the French in the story, but translations are also provided at the end. French translation assistance provided by [goneagainstthegrain](http://goneagainstthegrain.tumblr.com).

Ever since he stepped off the plane and into the terminal at Hartsfield, Jack's felt like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He can’t believe he’s finally here. He's been looking forward to this day for weeks, and it still feels like a dream. Excitement and anxiety create a heady, but slightly uncomfortable feeling, one of simultaneously wanting to shout his happiness from the rooftops and being violently nauseous. He's waiting for the gut-punch of reality, when he is once again reminded that he doesn't get to be happy, he doesn't get the cute, sweet guy he's been pining over for at least a year, but it hasn't come. _Maybe,_ he dares to hope, _maybe this time it won't._

The process of exiting the terminal, retrieving his bags, and leasing his rental car passes by in a haze; it's only once he's on the highway and heading east toward Madison that the reality of the situation sends his anxiety into overdrive. _Does Bitty still feel the same toward me? Does he want this? Will we have any time alone together? Does he even_ want _to be alone with me?_ Jumbled questions fill Jack's brain, in spite of the overwhelming evidence on his phone – text messages and longer emails and voicemails – that point quite definitively at Bitty being as head-over-heels in love with Jack, as Jack is with him.  

_Love. Mon amour._

Jack hasn't wanted to say it yet, not because he doesn't feel it – _ mon Dieu,_ he feels it so much that it threatens to shatter him – but because he wants to be able to see Bitty's face, to touch him, to _feel_ him when he says it, and he hopes that Bitty will say it back. Jack smiles sadly. All those years of Shitty calling him a hockey robot – what would he say if he could see Jack now?

As he approaches Madison, a familiar weight forms in the pit of his stomach. Bitty's not out to his parents, which means that Jack will have to watch himself. At the same time, though, he doesn't want Bitty to think that he's anything but wholly invested in this relationship. Jack decides that the only thing he can do is let Bitty guide them – he knows his parents best, and will know what level of personal contact will be acceptable to them. This decision does little to quiet the worried voice in his mind, though; he knows what he wants to do as soon as he sees Bitty _(push him up against the nearest vertical surface and kiss him senseless)_ , and he worries that instinct will override good judgment when there are no longer a thousand miles separating them. 

Jack's anxious fretting makes the drive pass quickly, and now he's pulling into the Bittles' driveway. He closes his eyes, takes a few deep, calming breaths, and gets out of the car.

"Jack!"

Bitty runs down the porch steps and nearly knocks Jack off of his feet with the force of his hug. Without a second thought, Jack wraps his arms around Bitty, and his anxiety recedes, leaving him feeling lighter and more content. Jack rests his head on Bitty’s shoulder, afraid that if he actually looks him in the eye, he might start crying – happy tears, but crying nonetheless – and he doesn't want to be puffy-faced when he meets Bitty's parents. 

"Lord, I've missed you so much, you have no idea," Bitty sighs, his face buried  in Jack's neck.

"I'm pretty sure I do," Jack mumbles happily.

Bitty pulls away, but keeps his hands on Jack's waist.  Jack gazes at him, taking in his huge brown eyes and dazzling smile.  If he's not careful, he just might float away.

"Hi," Bitty says shyly.

"Hi."

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile so wide. Not even when we made the Frozen Four," Bitty says.

"I don't think I've been as happy about anything in my life as I am right now," Jack replies, surprised at his own words. His hands are on Bitty's shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles on his collarbones.  Bitty's gaze turns into something _more_ , something heated and intense, like he wants nothing more than to devour Jack on the spot. And Jack would let him, but-

"Dicky, don't keep Jack out there in the sun! The poor boy will melt!" Mrs. Bittle shouts from the front porch.

Jack didn't even notice it at first, so focused is he on Bitty, but the longer he stands on the asphalt driveway, the more oppressive the heat – and worse yet, the humidity – becomes. Reluctantly, he lets go of Bitty's shoulders, and Bitty drops his hands from Jack's waist.

"Let me help you get your bags inside," Bitty says, taking Jack's keys out of his hand.

"That's alright, I can--"

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann. If my mama catches me letting a guest carry their own bags, I'll never hear the end of it. Haven't you heard of Southern hospitality?"

Jack laughs softly. _Mon Dieu_ , how he's missed this – the easy camaraderie that he and Bitty share, the way they dance around in each other's space, never crowding but always present. Jack's fingers itch to touch Bitty, to map his body with his hands, but he shoves them into his pockets instead. He can't afford to give the game away. Not until Bitty is ready.

"If you insist," he says.

Bitty sticks out his tongue at Jack, a bag in each hand. Jack shuts the trunk and follows behind, shamelessly admiring the view. Bitty's strength is belied by his small stature, but figure skating and hockey have given him well-defined muscles, something he delights in showing off with crop-tops and short-shorts that were the focus of Jack's more pleasant dreams over the last few months . He can't recall the last time he felt this way about anyone. Kent, maybe... but that was a lifetime ago. He was a different person then, one who hadn't yet learned that you don't have to be perfect to be loved.

Bitty’s "Hey slow poke, hurry up!" snaps Jack out of his reverie, and he picks up the pace.

"Oh, Jack, it’s so  good to see you again!" Mrs. Bittle says, pulling Jack down into a hug as soon as he walks through the doorway . Jack huffs out a small laugh and goes with it, not knowing what else to do.

"Good to see you too, Mrs. Bittle," Jack says when she releases him.

"Suzanne, please. And this is Eric, my husband." Mr. Bittle is nearly as tall as Jack, but much stockier, with a football linebacker's build. He shakes Jack's hand with a firm grip.

"Hello, Mr. Bittle," Jack says, his anxiety beginning its slow creep up his spine.

"Call me Coach, son, everyone else does," he says in a booming voice, letting go of Jack’s hand. Jack nods, and glances over at Bitty, who is still holding Jack's bags and shuffling from foot to foot. Jack wonders if it’s his presence, or Coach’s, that has Bitty on edge all of a sudden.

Suzanne takes charge of the situation. "Dicky, why don't you take Jack's bags to your room? Then you can come back down and join us in the kitchen. Dicky's been baking up a storm these last few days. I think we have enough baked goods to feed the whole town!"

"Mama..." Bitty says with mock exasperation. Coach nods and gives some reason for excusing himself that Jack doesn't quite catch, and Suzanne bustles off to the kitchen. Jack and Bitty are left in the foyer, staring at each other, and Jack isn't sure what to do next.

"C'mon upstairs, you can make fun of my figure skating medals," Bitty says finally, with a wry quirk of his mouth. He heads toward the stairs, still carrying both of Jack's bags, and Jack follows, suddenly feeling a bit wrong-footed. Maybe he should've stayed in a hotel, instead of imposing on Bitty's family? Would that have been less awkward, or more?

Bitty pushes open the door to his bedroom and drops Jack's bags on his bed. It's a small room, dominated by a full-size bed in the middle, with a desk under the window and a nightstand near the door. There are shelves on the walls with an impressive amount of skating trophies and medals (why Bitty would even think that Jack could make fun of him for excelling at such a demanding sport, he'll never understand), posters on the walls (Beyonce, naturally, and also the Atlanta Thrashers), and the general clutter of a young man home for the summer – clothes piled on a chair, duffel bag partially sticking out from under the bed, hockey gear by the desk.  Then his eyes light on Bitty, and there's only one thought in his head.

"Wait," says Bitty, moving quickly to close the door, and returning to stand in front of Jack again, smiling softly.

Jack catches Bitty's hands in his own, and gazes at him, sun-kissed and freckled, and utterly beautiful.

"Bitty."

They meet in the middle, their first kiss just a brush of lips. Jack cups Bitty’s face in his hands as the kiss becomes less hesitant, more sure. Bitty’s arms snake around Jack’s waist, aligning their bodies, and Jack drops his hands to Bitty’s shoulders, and around to his back.

Bitty pulls away just a fraction, just far enough to whisper, "I really missed you." And Jack loses himself again in Bitty's eyes, open and trusting and everything _right there_ on the surface. No secrets, not anymore. 

A knock at the door shakes them out of the moment, and they step back from each other as Suzanne eases the door open. "We have pie and a fresh pitcher of iced tea downstairs, boys. Dicky, don't keep Jack holed up in here. I'm sure he doesn't want to spend all day in your room."

"Yes, ma'am," Bitty says, fighting to keep a straight face. 

Suzanne closes the door again, and Bitty holds up a finger to keep Jack silent as they listen for her footfalls on the stairs. As soon as she's far enough away, they both erupt into laughter.

"Lord that was close!" Bitty gasps, in between giggles.

"And she couldn't be more wrong," Jack replies, chuckling. "I could spend all day in here with you."

The mood changes just that quickly, and Jack can feel the electricity crackle between them.  He is irresistibly drawn to Bitty, and from the looks of it, the feeling is mutual. They come together again, Jack wrapping his long arms around Bitty, and Bitty sliding his own arms around Jack's waist. "I missed you too," Jack murmurs into Bitty's hair, breathing him in. He wants to memorize everything about this moment, so he can take it back to Providence with him and lovingly unpack it when he can't be with this brilliant, beautiful man.

Bitty hugs Jack a little tighter. "So long to wait, and now that I've got you here I can't even get two minutes of privacy to welcome you properly.”  He looks up at Jack, flashing a gorgeous smile, and Jack captures it with his lips, tracing Bitty's mouth with the tip of his tongue. Bitty moans, deepening the kiss, and _Crisse ,_ Jack is already starting to get hard in his jeans. He indulges himself for a few more seconds before reluctantly pulling away, brushing a feather-light kiss on Bitty's forehead.

"If I don't stop now, we won't leave this room for the next hour," Jack says, breathless. Bitty nods, similarly affected. "Is there anywhere we can go...?"

Bitty smiles wickedly. "I know just the place."

_X_

Jack changes into a pair of shorts and his old Samwell hockey t-shirt at Bitty’s urging (“you’ll die of heatstroke wearing a button-down and jeans in this weather, Jack”), and they join Suzanne in the kitchen, each having an obligatory slice of pie and a glass of iced tea that Jack swears is sweeter than maple syrup. Suzanne tries to offer them seconds, but Bitty tells her that he plans to show Jack around town, and promises to be back home in time for supper.

Jack lets Bitty drive the rental car; not only does Bitty know his way around better than he does, it also affords Jack an opportunity to shamelessly watch Bitty while he drives. Bitty's wearing those tiny red shorts, the ones he wore for the Spring Concert when he got shit-faced drunk and lost a shoe, and ended up riding piggyback on Jack back to the Haus. Jack had to take a long shower after that; having Bitty draped over him, with those toned legs of his wrapped around his waist, was a bit too much for his suddenly reawakened libido, and he had one of his most satisfying wank sessions to date as a result. But now, Jack has nothing to hide – at least while they're outside of Bitty's house. He can count Bitty's freckles, admire the smooth muscles of his arms and legs, and _touch_. _Mon Dieu ,_ he could touch Bitty now, and that by itself was almost enough to make Jack weep tears of joy.

"You could take a picture, it'll last longer," Bitty chirps.

"Oh, I intend to take lots of pictures of you over the next few days," Jack replies, his voice low and husky.

"Do you now, Mr. Zimmermann? And will I be wearing clothes in any of these pictures?"

Jack flushes to the tips of his ears. Bitty wields innuendo like he does his hockey stick, with a firm grip and a deft touch, and it never fails to catch Jack off-guard. Bitty catches Jack all flustered, and giggles, running his hand up Jack's leg. "Oh honey, I don't care if you stare. Lord knows if I weren't driving, I'd be doing the same thing to you."

Jack laughs and relaxes in his seat, but Bitty doesn't move his hand away; if anything, he moves it fractionally _upwards_. Jack can feel his pulse racing, and for once it's not a sign of an impending panic attack. He covers Bitty's small hand with his larger one, curling his fingers around Bitty's palm. "Better stop there, _mon chéri_ , or we're not going to be able to get out of this car anytime soon."

"Point taken," Bitty grins. "And while I _do_ want to find a quiet corner and have you all to myself, we have to have something to tell my parents when we get back to the house that doesn't involve us making out."

"So where are you taking me, Mr. Bittle?" Jack teases.

"Oh _Gawd_ , don't call me that. That's my dad."

"Alright, Dicky."

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann, if you call me 'Dicky' again, I swear to God I'll make you sleep on the floor!"

Jack laughs, and moves his hand to the back of Bitty's neck, stroking the fine hairs on his nape. "You still didn't answer my question. Where are you taking me?"

"Oh, I thought we'd hit a couple of the local hangouts, and then I have an idea of somewhere we can go that's relatively cool, and relatively _private_."

"I like the way you think," Jack purrs, feeling Bitty shiver with pleasure under his hand.

_X_

Bitty takes Jack to Madison Drug first, which was nothing at all like any pharmacy Jack had ever seen in Montreal, or in Samwell, for that matter. It is more of an everything store – the usual drugstore fare, but also trinkets, clothing, and a lunch counter. Bitty buys Jack a Madison, GA shirt ("you can sleep in it, I don't care"), and they have Cokes (“Never Pepsi, that’s a four-letter word down here”) at the old-fashioned counter. Bitty regales Jack with stories about the history of Madison, why a sleepy town an hour east of Atlanta was named after a president from Virginia, and how most of the antebellum architecture survived the Civil War. Jack is entranced – and not just because it's Bitty talking. He had no idea that there was so much history in this small town.

After that, they walk over to Scoops for ice cream. The place is packed, and Bitty quietly starts filling Jack in on a different kind of history – the town gossip. Who was related to whom, who did what and where - Bitty has all the deets. Jack guesses that Suzanne keeps Bitty up-to-date on the happenings back home while he is at school. They walk along Main Street for a while, finishing their ice cream cones, and then Bitty gets that glint in his eye again.

"I reckon we've done enough around town to tell my parents about. Let's get out of here.”

A few minutes later, they're pulling up in front of one of the largest high schools Jack has ever seen. It looks more like a small college campus, and as they drive around to the rear parking lot next to the football field, Jack is in awe.

"Wow, Georgia really loves its football, eh?" he muses.

Bitty snorts. "Honey, football is to Southerners what hockey is to Canadians. It's practically a religion, and _this_ -" he gestures to the field "-is the church." Bitty parks the car and gets out, and Jack follows him, genuinely curious as to why Bitty brought him _here_ , of all places.

"At this time of year, there’s no one here. We have this place all to ourselves," Bitty explains, lacing his fingers with Jack's as they walk around the perimeter of the field. "I practically grew up on the football field. Coach signed me up for peewee football as soon as I was big enough to play – and boy, was he disappointed that I wasn’t big enough until I was nine! Not that it mattered; the football gene clearly missed me, and I don't think Coach ever quite got over that."

Jack squeezes Bitty's hand. "I'm guessing he was less than thrilled about figure skating, eh?"

"You could say that. It wasn't until Mama dragged him to my first competition where I did jumps that he saw how demanding a sport it really was, but he never could get past the bodysuits and sequins. You know... Johnny Weir, and all that," Bitty says, trailing off.

"And they still don't know, do they," Jack says, rather than asks.

"I've never said anything. Don't ask, don't tell, right? I think Mama suspects. Pretty sure Coach is in denial. But ever since I started to play hockey, which, to him, is a _real_ sport-" Bitty shakes his head in frustration "-he talks to me a bit more. Even if I do have to explain the rules over and over again." Bitty sighs and looks down. "I'm not exactly the son he hoped for."

Jack stops, and wraps his arms around Bitty. It's hot as hell on the field, with the midafternoon sun beating down on them, but he still holds Bitty close. "You are amazing, and kind, and talented, and – and beautiful," Jack breathes, thankful that Bitty can't see him blushing furiously. "I'm sorry your dad has trouble seeing that."

Bitty tucks his head under Jack's chin, and Jack feels him shudder. He runs his hands down Bitty's back, caressing him, soothing him; he doesn't know what to say to make Bitty feel better, but he's glad he's here now, and can comfort him in this way. Bitty reaches up and wipes his face, then looks at Jack with wet eyes. "Thank you, honey. I try not to think about it too much, but – well, you know."

"Yeah. We always want our fathers to be proud of us." This is something Jack understands all too well.

"Right." Bitty stands up straight, finding new resolve, and takes Jack's hand. "C'mon, I still need to show you my secret spot," he says, flashing a watery grin.

Jack grins back – how can he not? - and follows Bitty as they walk off the field and around to the side of the home stands, until they get to a point where they can walk underneath, and now, now Jack sees where they are going. Where _this_ is going.

Bitty leads him further under the bleachers to a large concrete storage building at the center. It's still humid under here, but Jack is grateful to be out of the sunlight. Bitty turns and catches Jack's other hand in his, and walks backward toward the wall, holding Jack's gaze and biting his lip playfully. Bitty's back bumps against the wall and Jack crowds in his space, sliding one thigh between Bitty's legs. Bitty slides his hands around Jack's waist and over his ass, grabbing it and pulling Jack even closer, looking up at Jack through long, blond eyelashes.

Jack is so done for.

Bracing one forearm against the wall, Jack cups Bitty's jaw with his other hand and kisses him slowly, thoroughly. He traces the seam of Bitty's lips with the tip of his tongue and Bitty deepens the kiss, grinding against Jack's thigh. Jack groans with pleasure, his hands now roaming up and down Bitty's arms, over his torso, and up under his crop top. He breaks the kiss and mouths along Bitty's jaw until he gets to a soft spot on Bitty's neck, just under his ear, nipping gently with his teeth.

"Lord, Jack, you keep doing that and this is gonna be over real fast," Bitty growls, his voice lower than Jack's ever heard it, and the sound goes straight to his cock. There is so much he wants to do with Bitty, most of it involving a bed, and several days spent exploring each other's bodies, finding out what Bitty likes, what makes him moan with pleasure, what drives him crazy with desire. But here in Madison, he has to be content with stolen moments like this. His mind made up, Jack kisses Bitty again before dropping to his knees.

"Jack – what are you – you don't have to do this," Bitty says, panting.

"I want to," Jack says, looking up at Bitty, his fingers curling into the waistband of Bitty’s shorts. "That is, only if – you know – we haven't really-"

"Lord yes, _please_ ," Bitty moans. Jack stops for a moment, taking in the sensual image before him – Bitty, leaning against the wall, arms out and hands splayed against the concrete, gazing softly at Jack with those impossibly large brown eyes, biting his lip in anticipation, and his shorts tented with arousal. Jack hastily pulls down Bitty's shorts and briefs, letting them pool around his ankles. He stops, admiring Bitty’s cock, rock-hard and already leaking. He caresses Bitty's hips, reaching around to grab his ass. Bitty's hips thrust forward minutely as he bites off another moan. Jack nuzzles Bitty's dark blond curls, then kisses along the length of his cock, wrapping his lips around the head with a gentle suck.

"Fuuuuuck," Bitty moans, his hips stuttering. Jack, encouraged by Bitty’s reaction, takes more of him into his mouth, sliding his tongue along Bitty's length. He grips Bitty's hips with his hands, grazing his cock lightly with his teeth. Bitty bites off a stream of curses as his hips jerk, but Jack's hands steady him. Jack can feel Bitty trembling, losing control bit by bit, as he works Bitty's cock with lips and tongue. Bitty is shaking now, moaning and repeating Jack's name, and _Crisse_ if that isn't the hottest thing Jack's ever heard. He resists the temptation to speed up, instead pulling back to suck on the tip and tongue the slit. Bitty keens, and Jack takes one hand off of Bitty's hip and pulls one of Bitty's hands off the wall, placing it on the back of his own head.

"Jesus, Jack, are you-"

Jack looks up and locks eyes with Bitty until he sees that Bitty understands. Bitty holds Jack's head with both hands and starts thrusting into Jack's mouth, swearing and shaking. Jack holds Bitty's hips for leverage and lets his jaw go slack, allowing Bitty to fuck his mouth.

"Oh fuck oh Christ Jack I'm gonna-" Bitty's hips stutter once, twice, and he comes with a long moan. Jack swallows it all, milking Bitty's orgasm out of him, then slowly pulls off, licking Bitty clean. Bitty collapses against the wall, utterly spent, as Jack sits on the ground, panting heavily. He reaches in his shorts to adjust himself, and even that motion is almost too much – he's so close himself that a few quick strokes would probably be all he needs.

"Oh my god, Jack," Bitty says breathlessly.

Jack looks up at him, grinning. "You alright? Was – was it –"

"Lord, yes, it was – I don't even know how to describe it – amazing, fantastic. _God_ ," Bitty says. He pulls up his shorts and joins Jack on the ground, straddling his lap and kissing him enthusiastically. Jack wraps his arms around Bitty and thrusts up against Bitty's ass.

"Oh God – Jack – let me -"

Before Jack can stop him, Bitty slides off Jack's lap into the space between Jack’s legs, and pushes him backward. Jack falls back on his elbows, stretching his legs out. Bitty eagerly attacks Jack’s shorts, pulling them down a bit so he can get to Jack's cock, which is peeking out of the waistband of his briefs. Bitty eases Jack's cock out, and with no warning at all, takes it into his mouth.

"Bitty, _fuck_ , you don’t- it’s alright-" Jack can’t even put together a coherent thought right now.

Bitty pulls off just for a moment, brown eyes flashing wickedly. "Southern hospitality, remember? Besides, I've been dreaming about this."

Jack reels. _Bitty’s been dreaming about me – dreaming about sucking my cock._ _Il va me rendre fou._ He watches as Bitty lowers his mouth onto his cock, and the sight of Bitty’s lips stretched around him is obscenely hot. Bitty tries to set a pace, but it’s messy and uncoordinated, and it doesn't even matter because Jack is so fucking close and Bitty's mouth is so warm and wet and--

"Ah, fuck, _Bitty_ \--!" Jack comes hard, back arching and hips thrusting up and _Merde_ , he’s never felt this good or been this happy in his life. Bitty swallows most of it down, but a little bit dribbles out of the corner of his mouth.  Jack reaches out and thumbs it away gently, his hand caressing Bitty’s cheek. Bitty pulls off his cock with a wet _pop_ , his eyes fixed on Jack. Jack can see the question there – _did I do it right? –_ and his heart swells. He pulls Bitty back into his lap and holds him close, burying his face in Bitty’s shoulder.

"Did I – was that – did you –" Bitty starts, and Jack silences him with a deep kiss. Bitty shifts so he’s straddling Jack again, but there’s no urgency now, just the slow slide of their mouths against each other, coming down from their hazy bliss.

Jack pulls back, reaching up to caress Bitty’s cheek. He wants to tell him that he’s wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, but nothing he can think to say is enough to convey what he’s feeling right now. He gazes at Bitty, speechless.

Bitty frowns. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

Jack draws Bitty’s face closer, placing gentle kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. " _Non, non, c’est juste -- je t'aime, Bitty. Je t’aime, je t’aime._ "

Bitty pulls back now, studying Jack’s face. Jack waits, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He said it in French; he’s always found it easier to express himself in his native tongue, and he hopes – prays – that Bitty understands.

" _’Je t’aime’,_ you mean—" Jack sees the moment that it falls into place, as Bitty’s whole face lights up, and then Bitty’s kissing the life out of him again, and he’s _crying,_ Bitty’s crying, and Jack holds him close.

"I never thought – I never dreamed – oh god, Jack, I love you too. So, so much," Bitty says in between kisses, and Jack kisses him back, just existing happily in this moment, knowing now that _this_ is what happiness feels like. It’s not a diploma, or a championship, or an NHL contract, it’s this right here. And it’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mon amour = my love  
> Mon Dieu = My God  
> Crisse = Christ  
> mon chéri = my darling  
> Il va me rendre fou. = He's going to drive me crazy.  
> Merde = shit  
> Non, non, c’est juste -- je t'aime, Bitty. Je t’aime, je t’aime. = No, no, it's just-- I love you, Bitty. I love you, I love you.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with Johnny Weir, he is an American figure skater who competed in the 2010 Winter Olympics. At the time he had not disclosed his sexuality, but there was rampant (and often derogatory) speculation. Bitty would've been a teenager when Weir was competing, and likely was aware of the backlash associated with Weir's sexuality.


End file.
